If I Say I Love You
by Tarafina
Summary: "Loving you is the best thing I ever did… It's the scariest, hardest, most incredible thing I've ever felt…"


**Title**: If I Say I Love You (Will You Believe Me?)  
><strong>Category<strong>: Glee  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Angst/Romance  
><strong>Ship<strong>: Puck/Rachel  
><strong>Rating<strong>: Teen  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: Picture / "Because I still wake up every morning… and the first thing I want to do is see your face." by gabi_in_wndrlnd – puckrachel drabble meme (part 8)  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 2,644  
><strong>Summary<strong>: "Loving you is the best thing I _ever _did… It's the scariest, hardest, most _incredible _thing I've ever felt…"

**_If I Say I Love You (Will You Believe Me?)_**  
>11

She was a little jaded. Or, okay, in Rachel Berry context, she was _really _jaded.

Puck still remembered when she used to look at romance with stars in her eyes; when she used to believe anything and everything could be solved with the power of love. He also remembered scoffing and thinking she was naïve and way too innocent. Thing was, he didn't love her then. Or, at least, he wasn't _in love _with her. Those were the days when she was lost in Finn and he was just figuring himself out. He was trying to bounce back from giving up his daughter, from learning he didn't have to be Puck all the time, that Noah was a cool dude too.

That was high school and now they were years away from that. Years away from being the children they were when they had those ideas stuck in their head. When he was invincible because he was a badass and she because she was gifted with so much talent. When he threw slushees and she wore them. When glee club brought together a rag-tag bunch of misfits and taught them about themselves and life and everything in between.

That was before they found each other again in the New York landscape. Before they grew up and went to college and started getting all their dreams. And now, they weren't young or innocent or anywhere near naïve. But he sometimes wished she was. Wished she could stop doubting herself and them and what their future might be like. Wished she wouldn't look at him and worry he might do exactly what Finn Hudson did when she was all bright and sunshiny and the romantic of all romantics.

'Cause he wasn't going to break her heart. He wasn't even going to _chip _it. As much as she'd become more wary of men, of letting herself be real with them, showing them all her many colors while knowing that not all of her was society's description of nice or acceptable. She was loud and brash and obnoxious; she would break bones for a solo and smile while doing it. But she was _his_. She was his pint sized diva and he loved everything about her; even the stuff that might drive other people nuts. Like how she always sent him to the bakery section when they went grocery shopping, while she stayed two aisles over just because it was connected to the deli and she refused to have anything to do with the slaughtering or selling of poor, dead animals. Or how she sang scales as soon as she woke up, while working out on her elliptical, even if he was _trying _to sleep. And then there were the scary things, like when she got a smaller role in a play and calculatingly planned out the demise of her successor. He loved all of that. So while she was waiting for the bottom to fall out on their happily ever after, he was finally happy committing himself to her and all her crazy.

He tried to tell her that; tried to tell her that he didn't see another woman in his future. He didn't see himself being happy with anybody but her. But she'd get that look on her face; that stubborn "you say that now" look that she'd had for _way too fucking long_. And in those moments, when he wanted to shake her and make her see that he was a hundred percent in, he also wanted to kick the living hell out of Finn. Course, he hadn't seen him in years. Like, since they both lived in Lima, Ohio and were in high school. But this was his fault and it was really shitty that Puck had to be the one cleaning it up!

All the promising and the reassuring fell on deaf ears though. He was getting tired of saying he loved her and wondering if she even believed him. It took a lot of damn courage for him to say those words. And even more when he knew some part of her was waiting for him to change his mind. Only, he wouldn't. He _knew _that. He never _doubted _that Rachel Berry was just—She was _it _for him. Like, he'd already called her dads to get the go-ahead and asked his ma if she had his Nana's ring. After she stopped crying and thanking god for this miracle, she sent it out to him, and he'd been holding onto it for the last three months.

He wanted to propose. He _really_ fucking did. But he wouldn't do it unless she knew, without the ring, that loving her wasn't an _option _for him. It wasn't something that would get old, or that he could just let go of, or that he'd just pass on to the next chick who walked by. Loving her was like a life-long disease that he was never getting rid of. And he knew, okay, that probably wasn't even the right _word _for it. In fact, she might hit him if he described it that way. But what he _meant _was that it was a _part _of him; like a limb or a vital organ. There was no living without it; without _her_.

So it was naked Sunday, 'cause that's how they rolled. Or, okay, it was _his _naked Sunday, not exactly mandatory, and he just stripped her down of all her clothes and forced her to spend the day with him in the apartment, not answering phones or doing work or even cooking. 'Cause no doubt the delivery dudes that dropped off lunch and dinner had seen worse than him with nothing but a pillow over the goods. The sun had long set over the city and the lights that she liked to stare at, sighing over like they were her own private fireworks show, were lit up all over. Blankets and pillows and couch cushions were spread out on the floor, empty Chinese foods boxes were tipped over and left on the coffee table, and some musical was playing though he wasn't paying any attention. It was her choice, since they watched The Hangover beforehand, and she was sprawled out on her stomach, naked as ever, chin propped up on her hands while her feet swung back and forth absently.

He sat back against the couch, just staring at her, a half-smile quirking her lips.

"I love this part," she murmured, that soft look filling her face.

He knew that face. That was her 'Why can't love like that be real?' face. Sometimes, he thought about her as a teenager, watching the same movie, but her face would read, 'I can't wait until I find a love like that.' And then he wondered if maybe he lost his chance years ago; if maybe he was doomed to love her like she wanted, only she'd never really _believe _him…

He caught her foot when it swung back toward him, his hand wrapped around her tiny ankle. She let him hold it until he dragged his finger down the center. With a shriek, she rolled over onto her back and tried to pull her foot away.

"Noah!" she cried, laughing. "St-Stop!"

He grinned, continuing to tickle her little dancer's foot.

Her toes curled and she yanked, but she was no match for his strength. So she laughed and she struggled until tears filled her eyes and a flush had spread along her skin.

Finally, he stopped, watching her as she lay there panting for breath, hands resting on her stomach, mouth curled in a content smile. And then he leaned over, kissed the top of her foot, and dropped it to his side before sliding his hands along her smooth, tanned legs. With a quick yank, he pulled her down the make-shift bed and a little maneuvering had her sitting up in his lap.

She was smiling lopsidedly when her arms slipped around his neck, her dark hair mussed. "Hi," she said quietly, like she didn't want anybody but him to hear her, even though they were very much alone in their apartment.

"Hey."

She wiggled in his lap, getting more comfortable. "Have I told you lately that these random naked Sundays of yours are starting to grow on me?"

He smirked. "Pretty sure nine orgasms speak for themselves."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not _just _the love-making, Noah…" She bit her lip. "Although that does seem to be even more fun on days like this…" With a sigh, she tipped her head and looked at him a long moment. "What I like most though, is just being here with you, no distractions…" She leaned in, letting her forehead rest against his. "I like having you all to myself."

His hands slid up her back, taking in all the warm, bare flesh. "Should be used to it. You've had me all to yourself for years now."

"True…" She drew back a little, glancing past his shoulder to the couch. "I can't believe it's been so long…" Her brows furrowed. "Did you ever imagine we'd make it five years?" she asked in a nearly incredulous tone, her eyes widening.

He stared up at her and said honestly, "_Yeah_."

Her eyes met his and she smiled in that soft way she did when she didn't quite believe him but appreciated him saying it anyway. "Noah…"

"No, Rach, _seriously_…" His hands fell to her hips and squeezed. "Even when I was a teenager I knew you'd be different for me… Hell, we weren't even _dating_ and I was better with you…" He shook his head. "And yeah, it took us awhile to get our shit together, but now that we have…?" He cocked a brow at her. "Babe, there's nobody else I want to have naked Sundays with… Nobody else I ever want _period_."

Her smile wavered slightly. "How do you _know?_" she wondered. She stared at him searchingly. "_Honestly…_ How can you be _so _sure of us?"

"Because…" He hugged her closer. "Because I still wake up _every _morning… and the first thing I was to do is see your face." He learned in close, until their noses were pressed together. "Five years later, Rach, and I still smile when I hear you singing scales or when I see your shampoo next to mine or when I run out of milk but there's plenty of that soy shit left…" He shook his head. "I still trip over your heels at the door and it pisses me off, but babe, I'd do it another fifty years as long as I knew it meant you were here… That you stuck around with my Lima Loser ass—"

Her eyes flashed and her mouth set in a frown. "There are no Lima Losers in this apartment, Noah Puckerman." She stabbed his chest with her finger. "You know the rules!"

He laughed, ducking his head to press his forehead to her shoulder. "And I'll spend another five years listening to you tell me Loser is the worst word in my vocabulary, even if I disagree 'cause I've said some pretty dirty shit…"

She rolled her eyes. "It's the psychological damage associated with that word, Noah. We've talked about this!"

He grinned, licking his lips. "Okay, I'm not a loser…"

"Damn right you aren't!" she agreed vehemently.

"And you know how I _know _I'm not a loser?"

She waited, tipping her chin down to look at him.

"'Cause Broadway diva Rachel Berry would never be with a loser… She'd never live with one or fall for one or… or _marry _one…"

Her brows furrowed.

Taking a deep breath, he stared at her. "Rachel… I need you to know that this is all I want for the rest of my _life!_"

She opened her mouth, but he covered it with his hand.

"No, wait… Just listen."

She nodded slowly.

"I've said it, a million times before. And I'll _always _say it…" His jaw ticked. "I'll tell you that I want you, that I _love _you, for the rest of our lives, but…" He sighed. "But you need to believe that I _mean _it… You need know that I'm not saying this shit because you want to hear it. I—I'm not saying it for any other reason except I _feel _it." His eyes widened. "And you _know_ me! You _know _that all of this is not easy for me. It's not—It's not second nature for me to tell you that I love you. So _when _I say it… It's because loving you is the best thing I _ever _did… It's the scariest, hardest, most _incredible _thing I've ever felt…"

Her eyes shone with tears and he reached up to brush her hair from her cheek, catching a loose tear with his thumb before he slid his palm around to the nape of her neck.

"'Cause you keep waiting for me to walk away, and Rach, I don't _want _to… I _never _want to…" He shook his head. "So I need you to _trust _me…" He squeezed her. "I know it's hard and I know you're waiting for me to fuck this up, but I _won't_, okay? I won't _lose _you if you don't push me away…" He pressed his forehead up against hers. "Okay…? Can you do that for me?"

She stared back at him, tears hanging over the ends of her long, dark lashes. "Yes," she breathed, on a cracked sob. "I—I can do that."

He smiled widely, kissing the tears of her cheek, and then he hugged her tight and buried his face in her neck.

She gripped him close, sniffling against his shoulder. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I held back."

"S'all right," he told her, rubbing her back. "Just don't do it anymore, okay?"

She nodded, squeezing his biceps in her hands. "I want it too, you know? I—I'm only happy when I hear you snoring in bed…" She took a hiccuping breath. "I know I complain, but I'd even miss your dead animals in the fridge, because they remind me of you." She laughed. "That sounded wrong."

He chuckled. "I get it."

"You're _it _for me, Noah. You _are! _I just… I just get scared sometimes that as much as you're 'it' for me, I'm not for you and it's just… It was _stupid_, because I know—I _know _how you feel about me! I feel it! I feel it every time you touch me or kiss me or even when you _tease_ me! I—I've never felt more loved than in all the time I've been you."

His chest ached a little; it was like everything he wanted to hear, everything he _hoped _she felt, was coming out of her all at once. So he told her that.

She laughed. "Expect a lot more of it… I've had it building for five years!" she reminded. "If you thought I was emotionally distant before, now I'm going to be so close you'll be claustrophobic!"

He smirked. "I can handle that."

With a sniffle, she drew back and looked at him thoughtfully. "You can," she believed, nodding. "Thank you… For waiting."

He kissed her; just a slow, lingering, press of their lips. "It was worth it."

With a watery smile, she initiated a much deeper kiss and he slid her back against their make-shift bed of pillows and blankets.

He would give it a little while longer, let her get used to being open and honest with him, before he proposed. When he finally did, he got the answer he wanted, the one they both deserved. That haunted look in her eyes, the one that told him she wasn't expecting it, or she was waiting for him to retract the offer, it was long gone. And it stayed that way.

[**End.**]


End file.
